


To warm your bones

by Signe_chan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/pseuds/Signe_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint returns from a mission dripping wet. </p><p>Written for day number 2 of 25 days of fic for christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To warm your bones

Clint stomped down the hallway, still dripping sea water with every step. He fucking hated SHIELD and he hated Fury and he hated just about everything right now. It was meant to be a simple sniper mission, he shouldn’t even had been anywhere near any water and yet this. The damn perp had run and he’d had to follow and, for the record, he fucking hated everything. 

He yanked Coulson’s door open and stood there for a second, dripping on the threshold. Coulson looked up, raised an eyebrow and waved him in. 

"Sit," he said, gesturing at the chair. "There's a form for you to start with. I'll fetch a towel." 

Clint moved across the room, dropping in to the chair. There was a form there but he ignored it for now, choosing to pull of his excess clothing and dump it on the floor instead. He ignored Coulson's look of disapproval as the other man moved round him and out of the room. Once he was alone he lent forward, putting his head in his hands. He stunk and he was pretty sure he was going to start shivering any moment now. He hated being wet. It was the cold of it, the way it settled in to his bones. He'd do it, of course, for a mission. He didn't like it though. 

He picked the form up then put it down again, trying to wipe his hands against his trousers before remembering that wasn't going to improve the situation. Fuck, couldn't even fill out the damn mission report right. 

The office door opened again and Clint turned; ready to scare of anyone who wasn't Coulson. Luckily, it was Coulson. He had a towel slung over one arm and a cup in the other. Clint grabbed the towel greedily, rubbing it through his hair. He heard Coulson shut the door behind him and lock it then set the cup down as he desperately tried to dry himself. 

"What am I going to do with you," Coulson said with a sigh, and Clint gave him a long suffering look at the other man moved past him to one of the cupboards. He pulled out a spare t-shirt and pair of track pants and threw them as Clint who snatched them up gratefully. 

"Wasn't my fault," Clint groused. "The target ran." 

"Yes, but he didn't run down here dripping all over my carpet. Couldn't you stop and get clean first?" 

"Probably," Clint said, defensively. "I didn't want to though." Read he wanted to come here. Read he wanted Phil to somehow make it all better, to take away the cold in his bones, though this wasn't the right place for that. 

Phil was smiling, though, in a way that said message received. And he was Phil then. With the door locked and that damn fond look on his face he couldn’t be Agent Coulson. 

"Alright," Phil said, softly. "Get changed. I brought you some chocolate." 

Clint turned to the mug quickly, grabbing it and pulling it close. It was indeed hot chocolate, deliciously warm in his hand - Phil had ever found some marshmallows somewhere to float in the top of it. 

It was ridiculous but it made him smile. He remembered the first hot chocolate, the damn safe house in New Jersey where it was the only warm drink in the house. Phil had grumbled about it but Clint had loved the stuff. He'd always loved the stuff, though he knew he should drink coffee like a proper adult. He'd had more hot drinks that mission then on any other and, years later, when he'd first told Phil about the wet and the cold and the way it made him feel Phil had apparently remembered and the next time he'd been wet, after being sat in the rain for hours waiting for a mark, he'd bought him a hot chocolate. 

That was before they were even having sex, which meant a lot. Phil hadn't remembered because he had to, he'd remembered because he cared about Clint and wanted to make him happy. 

He stripped quickly, handing the remainder of his wet things to Phil who dumped them on the chair he'd been using, presumably trying not to make the situation with the carpet worse. He toweled off quickly and pulled the t-shirt and pants on. They were warm, soft, smelt like Phil. 

"That's better," Phil said, stepping up to his side. Clint nodded in agreement, leaning over to rest his head on Phil's shoulder, looping an arm around the other man's waist. "Now, drink your drink and tell me what happened. I'll write for you but only this one." 

"If you say so," Clint agreed, knowing full well that if he came in bedraggled again, Phil would do the exact same thing. He rescued his hot chocolate and then grabbed the spare chair from the corner of the room, dragging it round to the other side of the desk so he could put his feet in the other man's lap as he talked and he started to tell the story.


End file.
